Breaking Out
by Wepdiggy
Summary: The morning after his 26th birthday party, Chuck finds himself alone in a strange, dark place.  What did he do to get arrested?  And will someone ever come to bail him out?
1. Worst Hangover Ever

**A/N: **So this is a story that's been in the pipes for a long time now. I mostly blame Frea for it. Not only does she have a seemingly endless stream of yet-to-be-written plot bunnies, but she inspires a similar productivity in others. And it's fitting that I blame Frea for this story, as the first chapter of this new fic is being published for Frea day. For those of you who don't remember, Frea Day is the day exactly half-way between her birthday and mine, on which we exchange fics. This was what she requested, so this is what she's getting. Now, there are some of you that I'm sure will worry about me finishing this story. I do have a couple that have yet to be completed. To those people, I offer, not a guarantee that I'll finish this story, because promises are dangerous when no one knows what tomorrow holds. Instead, I'll just tell you that I already have a pretty healthy buffer with this story. I've written a fair amount, and if I publish at a rate of one chapter per week, I should stay ahead of the curve, and keep you with a new chapter every week. So now that I've written one of the longest author's notes ever, I'll stop and let you (hopefully) enjoy the story. Happy Frea Day, Frea!

**Disclaimer: **At no point have I had any financial claim to _Chuck_ or any of the characters involved.

* * *

><p><strong>Breaking Out: Chapter 1- Worst Hangover Ever<strong>

**Wednesday September 19, 2007  
><strong>**Somewhere dark and lonely**

Chuck quickly decided that there were definite advantages to his current situation. Sure, his cell-and he was pretty sure it was a cell, but beyond that one fact, he had no idea where he was—was kind of creepy, but at least it was dark. That made the marching band in his head feel more like a four piece quartet, and for that, he was grateful. Even if the four piece included a timpani.

Also, he remembered something Bryce once said, back in their sophomore year of college. "It ain't a party unless someone goes to jail."

Well, Chuck had been at a party, a surprise birthday party thrown by his sister, but still a party. And strangely enough, Chuck's last coherent memory before waking up involved Bryce, and that strange, _Zork_ themed email. It really was a small world, Chuck mused.

Of course, since regaining consciousness, his world had become much, much smaller. No longer burdened by heavy traffic on the highway, angry customers, and lame Buy More uniforms, his world now consisted of four dingy stone walls, a door that never opened, a steel toilet with no seat, and a cot that looked like it saw its best days some time during the Carter administration.

Sure, he'd only been there a few hours, probably. At least that he could remember. Still, being all alone had made time drag by, and Chuck was beginning to accept his current living conditions as his life. Maybe he could put a welcome mat outside his cell. That is, if he was ever allowed to see the outside of his cell.

Irrational and defeatist? Perhaps, but if there was one thing life had taught Chuck, it was to always expect the worst, and plan for the equally as bad.

There was another realization that was slowly dawning on Chuck. Jail was nothing like is shown in the movies, or on TV.

There was no phone call, apparently. And he couldn't see a guard sitting outside his cell. Of course, the door to his cell had no bars, and only a small window that was about seven feet off the ground, and covered in dust to the point that he couldn't see out of it if he tried, so perhaps there was a guard just outside. But if there was, Chuck would never know about it.

Deciding there was nothing really better to do, and that he was already covered in whatever germs his bed-like apparatus had to offer, he sank back onto his cot, and stared at the dark, gloomy ceiling. Whoever had decorated his cell, while lacking imagination, had at least shown consistency. The ceiling, floor, and walls certainly matched. And although grimy, at least the cot was pretty soft. That helped, what with the enormous headache Chuck had.

With nothing else to do, Chuck tried to entertain himself by reciting every line of dialogue from _The Wrath of Khan_. About an hour in, he thought he heard a groan, coming from somewhere. But deciding that there was no one else left on the planet (or at least his planet) to groan, he shrugged it off and continued.

Just as Khan was activating the Genesis Device, Chuck heard something metal sliding against something else metal, then something clatter on the floor. Upon inspection, he saw a tray of food had been shoved through a slot in his cell door. The tray was resting face down on the disgusting floor, and Chuck decided it was a good thing he wasn't hungry. Whoever delivered his food probably thought it was a hilarious prank to throw it face down on the floor. But the joke was on them. Chuck didn't plan on eating it, anyway. His head still hurt far too much to eat.

Eventually, however, his curiosity overtook him, and he got up from his bunk to inspect what meal had been ruined. He sat on the cold, concrete floor and turned the tray over. To his surprise, the tray was wrapped in plastic, so at least the food (if you can call a burnt piece of toast and a green packet that proclaimed to hold a "barbeque veggie burger" food) was preserved. His captors may have been cruel and unusual, but at least they didn't waste things. And at least there was a bottle of water. That was easily the most appetizing portion of the "feast" he'd been provided.

Chuck opened the nameless bottle of water (because God forbid this prison support any corporate water provider) and quickly chugged half of the cool, refreshing drink, before realizing it would probably be hours before he received another. So he stopped halfway, and sighed, staring into the now half empty bottle, and wishing there was more.

He looked at the "food" again, and although his head was still pounding, a rumbling in his lower abdomen let Chuck know that his stomach was no longer agreeing with the rest of his body. He had to eat.

He nibbled on the toast, and it was as awful as he'd feared. Cold, dry, and burnt. So he tore open the plastic wrapper holding the barbeque veggie burger, and was splattered by the sauce. Not that it mattered. There was no one around to see that he'd made a mess of the dingy gray inmate attire someone had fitted him with while he was out.

Chuck took his first bite of the fake meat, and decided it was every bit as terrible as the toast he'd tried to eat before. He took another long pull from his water bottle to try to wash away the taste of the non-food, food, but it was of no use. That taste in his mouth was there to stay.

Chuck sighed again and tossed the rest of his "burger" onto the tray, alongside the discarded toast and shoved the offending items away, closer to the door. He then stood and walked back to his bunk, brining with him only the now three-quarters empty bottle of water.

He screwed the cap back onto the water, and collapsed back onto his bunk, letting the bottle rest next to him. It was his only friend, for the time being. However long he was to be in his own personal hell.

Chuck squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to go back to sleep. He silently prayed that when he opened them again, that he'd awaken from his current nightmare. Or at least that Ellie would be there to post his bail, and he could go back to his life, and try to forget the whole experience.

Ellie. Chuck wondered if she even knew where he was. Was she worried? Well, of course she was worried. It was Ellie. She would worry if he was ten minutes late getting home from his shift at his dead-end job. Disappearing for, well, however long he'd been disappeared probably had her in a panic, the likes of which Burbank had never seen. Poor Captain Awesome.

But Chuck tried to push those thoughts from his head. Worrying about Ellie, well, worrying about him wouldn't make time go by any faster. So instead, not for the first time, Chuck tried to relive the events of his birthday party, to see if he could make any sense of how he'd ended up in his current predicament.

Unfortunately, he was still drawing a blank. He remembered the party. He remembered failing with every woman Ellie invited to try to set him up with. He remembered retreating to his room, with Morgan in tow.

Morgan. That had to be the answer, right? Somehow, Chuck just knew that was the answer. Morgan had probably gotten his hands on something, and who knows what, but some type of drug, probably courtesy of Jeff and Lester (more the former than the latter), and decided it would be a good idea to toss it in Chuck's drink the second he wasn't looking.

When he got out of jail, Chuck decided he was going to invest in some of those special coasters that you could dip into your drink to tell if it was tampered with. With a best friend like Morgan, it would pay to have those around.

Still, there was a huge disconnect. Chuck remembered he was winding down for the night when Morgan left. He was going to read Bryce's email, then call it a night. Then he opened the email, and there were all these pictures, then, well, nothing. He had no memories after that moment, until he woke up in jail.

Was it something in Bryce's email? Was it the pictures? Had Bryce become some super genius, and decided that it would be a fun prank to play on the guy whose life he'd already ruined to brainwash him via some type of subliminal imaging, so that he would go do something really stupid and get himself arrested? Somehow, Chuck didn't think that was beyond the grasp of Bryce's cruelty, even if it was beyond the grasp of reality.

Subliminal imaging was an urban myth, mostly. Or at least Chuck was pretty sure of that.

But however he'd wound up in jail, trying to think about it just made his head hurt more, so Chuck decided to try to shut off his brain. He knew it was a very unlikely possibility, still, he had to try. He just felt drained, which was odd, as he hadn't really done anything, beyond lie on his cot, and eat really nasty non-food.

He was committed to his plan, however. He would get some sleep, and when he woke up, it would all make sense.

Only, when he woke up, when a noise woke him in the middle of what assumed was probably the night, he still had no clue how he'd wound up in jail. The only thing he knew for sure, and for the first time, was that he was not alone.

The noise persisted. It was a light thumping, as though someone was banging something, probably their head, against the wall on the other side of his cell. Perhaps someone else trying to figure out just what the hell had happened.

Chuck looked over the railing of his cot, and saw there on the floor, at the base of the wall, a vent that no doubt connected to what had to be the next cell over.

For a moment he considered trying to talk through the vent to his "neighbor." He quickly decided against this course of action, however. After all, he didn't want to tip his hand, that he was just a big nerd—a big, wimpy nerd—when his neighbor was probably some big, tough guy with multiple tear-drop tattoos and maybe an eye patch, who Chuck would no doubt see in the shower. If he was ever allowed to take a shower.

Chuck hated being alone, but the idea of being someone's, well, bitch appealed to him even less. So for the moment, he made it a point to stay silent. Yes, silence was probably the best policy.

Oh God. Did his neighbor hear him reciting _Wrath of Khan_? It may already be too late. Chuck tried to swallow back the fear that was bubbling deep in his gut, but it was of no use. He was scared now. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So that's all for this premiere of my new story. Hopefully everyone enjoyed it. Even more, hopefully Frea enjoyed it. I look forward to hearing from all of you. Happy Frea Day! You guys are awesome. Peace.


	2. In Which We Meet Brutus

**Chapter 2: In Which We Meet Brutus**

**Friday September 20, 2007  
><strong>**Still in the cell**

It was his third day in isolation. Chuck could tell that only by the fact that he'd had breakfast twice. So it was probably the third day. Unless he was being tricked. Maybe it was just the second day, and they fed him more frequently than he realized. That would be an excellent way to fatten him up, if his captor was an evil witch that intended to eat him.

But aside from that very unlikely (yet still unsettling) thought, Chuck was pretty sure it was the third day. Besides, if someone were truly trying to fatten him up for a Thanksgiving feast, they'd probably give him something better to eat. Or at least more carbs.

So it was, on this third day, that Chuck realized his verbal silence had only caused the voice in his head to talk more. And louder.

It was constantly coming up with explanations for why he was in a cell. Like, for instance, a witch had captured him and wanted to eat him. But he assured the voice that scenario was unlikely, and even if true, the witch would probably eat the guy in the next cell first, who was no doubt more appetizing.

And fortunately, Chuck had yet to meet the guy in the next cell. He'd managed to keep his silence since that first day, and the guards had never come to take them both to the shower, and despite what Chuck imagined was a horrible odor, he was grateful for that.

Still, between all the noise in his head, and his need to mend whatever fences he'd destroyed with his nerdy recitation of Star Trek movies, it was on this third day that Chuck decided to break the silence. He decided he would convince his neighbor that he was a tough guy, too. Then when they met, his _dignity_ wouldn't be in nearly as much danger.

Chuck sat on the cold, hard floor, right next to the vent that led to the next cell over. He gathered himself, and spoke in his best impression of a tough guy voice.

"So, what're you in for?"

Chuck waited, but there was no answer. Maybe that was for the best. Or maybe he just needed to try harder to earn the respect of the big, bad dude who now plagued his nightmares.

"Me? I killed a guy. Or maybe five or six. I don't know. Sometimes I blackout and go on a killing rampage, know what I mean?"

Chuck knew, deep down, that he could never actually kill another human being. But the other guy didn't need to know that. He only hoped the quake in his voice when he talked about killing hadn't been detected. But still, there was no answer. So Chuck continued.

"Yeah, sometimes I kill people for just looking at me the wrong way. And I don't feel sorry about it."

He wasn't expecting a reply anymore, so when he received one, it startled him. No, strike that, it scared the hell out of him.

"You didn't sound like much of a killer the other day," the voice spoke.

Chuck jumped, long arms and legs splaying out as he crashed the rest of the way to the floor. The voice had spoken. It had acknowledged him. It knew he was there. And it had heard his nerdiness at work. He was already dead.

Except that…

The voice didn't sound like he expected. It wasn't a deep, calloused voice of a hardened killer. It wasn't deep at all. It was soft, and sweet, and almost…

Holy crap! Was his neighbor a woman? Was he in a coed prison? Did they even make those? And how did he even ask that question of her/him?

"Um, I'm sorry," Chuck spoke, his voice evidence of his still shaken psyche, "but are you—"

"A woman? Yes," the voice said.

Okay, so he had his verification. Not that it helped. If anything, it made his situation make even less sense, if that was possible. Why would they hold a man and a woman in the same prison? And why were they holding them at all?

And what was he supposed to say to her? It hardly seemed like the time for flirting. Not that Chuck was particularly high on his ability to flirt to begin with. And it's not like he could ask for her number. Unless it was a joke. But this was a prison woman. Would she even get the joke?

"So, yeah, I'm not really sure where we go from here," Chuck admitted.

"You _could_ go to sleep, now that your fears of having your neighbor molest you have been allayed. Because I assure you, I have no intentions of taking advantage of you," the woman said.

"Oh, well, good, that's—"

Chuck turned those words over in his head. Something didn't quite at up. Oh yeah!

"Wait!" he said. "How did you know—are you a mind reader?"

"Hardly," she said. And just that simple word seemed to convey a lot. What it conveyed, Chuck had no idea, but there was something dark behind it. "You talk in your sleep. Apparently you thought my name was Brutus."

Chuck didn't know if he should be intrigued by the weight of her admission to not being able to read minds, or if he should be embarrassed by the fact he'd let someone hear his deepest, darkest fears. He supposed he could be both, but mostly, he was just embarrassed.

"So, I didn't get your name," Chuck said, trying to shake off the embarrassment.

"No, you didn't," the woman said simply.

That wasn't what Chuck was hoping for, but her tone left no room for negotiation. But he wouldn't be dissuaded so easily.

"Okay, name's are off the table then. But back to my earlier question. What are you in for?" he asked.

"I don't really see how that's any of your business," she answered.

"Okay, yeah, fair enough, but if we're going to be here, we may as well talk, right? I mean, it's not like—"

"Fine," she huffed. "I'm in here because I trusted someone. And here's a tip for you. Call it my one ounce of charity. Don't trust anyone. They'll just play you for a sucker."

He was tempted to ask. To dig deeper into whatever, or apparently whoever had gotten under the skin of his neighbor, but he decided against it. She didn't seem like the "talk it out" sort, and she certainly didn't seem to want to talk about whatever was bothering her. Still, he couldn't _not_ comment.

"That sounds like a bitter way to go through life."

"It's a smart way to go through life," she snapped back. "And If I hadn't gotten stupid…"

She let her voice trail off, and Chuck was even more intrigued. There was definitely a story there. Maybe one day, he'd even get to hear it. But he knew he couldn't push.

"You can call me Chuck, by the way."

He thought he heard a laugh, but then, it could've just been his imagination.

"Oh, then I take back what I said before," she replied.

"What's that?" Chuck asked, confused.

"When I said you didn't sound like a killer. If my parents named me Chuck, I'd probably be a murderous sociopath, too."

Wow, a joke. A very mean-spirited joke. And violent. Still, a joke was a step in the right direction, he figured.

"Yeah, well my parents were sadists," was his retort.

Then he knew he heard a laugh.

"It must have been a generational thing. I don't think my parents were any better," she said, and Chuck could swear he heard her mood lightening.

"Why, what horrible name did your folks give you?"

Silence. Dammit, he'd gone too far. He had to try to save it.

"Right, sorry. Wouldn't want to spoil anything. You don't have to tell me. I'll just continue to call you Brutus, if you prefer," he said.

"I'd prefer you not," she said.

"Well then what should I call you?" he asked.

"Why do you have to call me anything? Honestly, I'd be fine with silence, but if you insist on talking, just talk. It's not as if I'd think you were addressing someone else. This isn't exactly a crowded room."

Chuck could sense her anger rising again, and he didn't want that. So he decided to just talk.

"So anyway, I've been trying to figure out how I wound up here, and so far, I've got nothing. Would you care to hear the story?"

She said nothing, so Chuck continued.

"My sister was throwing a surprise birthday party for me, and she invited a bunch of people I didn't know, which made me uncomfortable, and honestly, I just wanted to hang out in my room with my friend Morgan."

"Wait, you're Chuck, and your friend's name is Morgan? Is there some sort of bad name club, or something?"

"You're very funny," Chuck deadpanned. "Anyway, as I was saying, Morgan and I had plans to escape. We were almost out the window, well Morgan _was_ out the window, when my sister walked in and caught us."

"Sounds like you're not very good at sneaking around," she commented.

"Well we're not spies or anything. We just work at a Buy More," he answered.

"Interesting," she said, and she didn't sound as if she was being sarcastic at all, which didn't make a lot of sense to Chuck, but he didn't have time to think much on it before she asked him to "continue."

"Right, so she caught us, and she made me go to this party, where she and her boyfriend Captain Awesome—"

"Wait a second, you call your sister's boyfriend 'Captain Awesome?'"

"Well everything he does is awesome. Climbing mountains, jumping out of planes." He paused. "Flossing."

For the first time he heard his neighbor laugh in earnest. He liked the sound of it. She sounded like someone who needed more laughter in her life. Of course, that could probably be said of anyone in their current condition. That thought darkened Chuck's mood just a bit, but he tried not to let it get to him.

"Anyway, so I was set off to talk to all these women who weren't all that interested in me, but finally, after several hours of that torture, it was over, and I could relax."

"So talking to women is torture?" she asked. "Are you not interested women in _that_ way?"

"What?" Chuck asked, nearly choking on his tongue. "No! I mean yes! I mean I am, it's just, it was a lot of pressure, and I don't know if I'm ready to start dating again right now, and—"

"Relax, Chuck," she said. "Finish your story. I promise, I won't judge you anymore."

"Okay," Chuck said. "But I'm not homosexual, just so you know."

"I believe you," she replied.

"I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Of course not."

"It's just, I'm not," he said, still flustered.

"I already said I believe you. Now finish your story," she said.

"Well, okay. So the party was over, and I went back to my room. I was lying on my bed, when an e-mail came through from my college roommate, Bryce."

After he said the name "Bryce," Chuck could swear he heard a growl coming through the vent.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, but she didn't sound like she meant it. "It's just, this Bryce sounds like an asshole. Just that name."

"Oh, he is," Chuck said, "but that's another story for another time. Anyway, so I opened the e-mail, and it was a line from _Zork_."

"Zork?" she asked.

"It's this game Bryce and I used to play in college. Anyway, I answered the question, and then there were all these pictures and stuff, and then I don't really remember much after that. Well, I don't remember anything really, until I woke up in this cell."

There was more silence.

"Was the story that bad?" Chuck finally asked, uncomfortable with the lack of response.

"Why'd you open the e-mail?" the woman asked.

Not the question he was expecting, though he guessed it was a fair one.

"I'm not sure," Chuck asked. "Do you think that has something to do with why I'm here? Oh God! Did those pictures brainwash me?"

"I don't know," she answered, but her voice sounded kind of hollow all of a sudden. "Listen, we should probably get some sleep. It's been nice talking to you, Chuck."

"You too, what was your name again?"

"Nice try," she said, and Chuck could swear he heard a bit of a smirk in her voice.

"Can't blame a guy for trying. Anyway, good night."

"Good night, Chuck," she answered.

* * *

><p><em>Disclaimer: Just as in the last chapter, I still claim no financial gains from this work of fiction, nor ownership of Chuck.<em>

_A/N: So, yes, the title of this chapter was inspired by the episode of Fringe that was watched earlier tonight in Castle Inanity's Fringe Rewatch 2011. Why do you ask? Oh, haven't heard of the Fringe Rewatch? Well you've been missing out. Every Monday, **Frea**, **MXPW**, yours truly, and other assorted guests chat on the Castle Inanity blog about an episode of Fringe, which we all watch together. We've started in season 1, so if you're not familiar with the show, there's nothing to fear. You should come join us. It promises to be a rousing good time. _

_And speaking of mxpw, I'd like to thank him for taking a look over this chapter, and catching a few of my errors. And the use of the word "few" may or may not be soaked with irony. I'll let you guess on that one. _

_So, three guesses as to the true identity of Brutus. The first two don't count. Unless I'm trying to trick you. And remember, I am a friend of Frea. _

_Good news is, I'm still ahead of the writing curve, so the updates should continue as weekly for the time being. Hopefully that will stay true. And, hey, if the power is still out at my office tomorrow, I may spend the whole day writing. Really build up a buffer. A boy can hope anyway. _

_So, in closing, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. You guys are awesome. Peace. _


	3. A Lesson in Being a Nerd

**Chapter 3: A Lesson in Being a Nerd**

**Saturday September 21, 2007  
>Same Damn Place <strong>

Chuck was awakened by the sound of his breakfast clattering to the floor of his cell. He groaned, and wiped the sleep from his eyes.

Sitting up on his cot, he briefly considered going back to sleep, but he knew that there would be plenty of time for sleep later. It's not like he had much else to do. His days-at least the past few days-had revolved around sleeping, eating, and talking to his mysterious neighbor. Speaking of which, he had no doubt she'd be awake now, too. She was always awake. Chuck was starting to think she was a robot that didn't require sleep. And if that was the case, it was probably best she was locked away. That would help prevent J-Day for at least a little while.

And that was a horribly nerdy thought that he would never share with her.

Chuck lazily slinked out of bed, and walked over to pick up his not-so-hot meal, of bad toast, one small grape jelly packet, an apple that had long ago seen its firmness fade, and a bottled water.

He looked at the breakfast with disgust, but knowing it was all he had, he returned to his cot to sit down, and try to enjoy it.

"Good morning, Brutus," Chuck said over his first bite of toast.

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't call me that?" she said.

"I don't recall a definitive end to the issue, but if you want to put an end to the Brutus thing, you could always just tell me your name," Chuck said.

She didn't say anything, and Chuck realized pushing her on the subject couldn't lead to anything good, so he changed the subject.

"You get anything good this morning?" he asked.

"Do we ever get anything good?" she asked.

"A fair point," he answered. "Although I guess it's better than starving to death."

"They won't starve us until they try to get information out of us," she said.

Chuck found her words unsettling. Maybe it was the glibness in her voice. The fact that he could tell she wasn't joking. And that she seemed to know more than him. But whatever it was, Chuck didn't like it. Still, he tried to laugh it off, awkward though his laugh may have been.

"That's funny," he said, though nothing in his tone held any humor. "What kind of information would they want? I mean, unless they're having computer problems, and need someone to fix it, I'm kind of useless to them. And even if that was the case, they wouldn't have to starve me. I'd gladly help."

She said nothing.

"What else could they want from me?" he continued. "I mean, do you know something they want to know? Or, do you even know who 'they' are?"

"Yeah, I know," she said cryptically. "But no, I don't think I know anything they want to know."

The conversation died then, as Chuck took his first bite of his all too soft apple. He would've spit it out, if he didn't know that it was the last thing he'd have to eat for several hours.

"I don't think we're in Washington," Chuck said, seemingly out of nowhere.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"Well Washington is supposedly known for their apples, and my apple is certainly nothing to write home about. You know, if they were actually letting me write home," he answered.

"Oh, you mean the state of Washington," she said. "No, you're probably right. I've never heard of any sites in Washington. And I doubt they flew us across the country. Not that they'd want to hold us in such close proximity to the capital, anyway."

"Why would they want to keep us away from the capital?"

It seemed like an odd question to ask. At least Chuck thought it sounded odd coming from his own mouth. There were so many other questions he thought he should've asked instead. Like, for instance, what kind of "sites" was she talking about? And who was holding them? And more importantly, _why_ were they being held. Still, one question at a time couldn't hurt.

"Because of what we know. Or what they think I know, and what you know," she said.

"But I'm telling you, I don't know anything," Chuck said.

She sighed then. Chuck thought she sounded frustrated, and he was too, but he couldn't imagine the source of her frustration. Did she not believe him?

"I'm telling the truth, I don't know anything!" he said. "I'm just a Nerd Herd supervisor. Maybe one day I'll be an assistant manager, but I'm not even sure I want that job. You know what? This isn't your problem."

Another silence grew then. Apparently, his new friend had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. She didn't seem at all interested in listening to Chuck. Or at least she didn't seem to believe anything he had to say.

"If I had to guess, I'd say we're in Arizona. There's a black site there, and the proximity would be about right," she said, breaking the silence.

Chuck was glad to hear her speak again, even if he had no clue what she was talking about. Black site? Arizona? Proximity? Proximity to what? None of it made any sense.

"You know, this whole being held in a cell thing reminds me of something I did in college," he said, changing the subject. "Bryce and I—you remember I told you about Bryce?"

"Yeah," she said, "Bryce."

His ex-best friend's name sounded almost like a curse coming from her mouth. Chuck couldn't figure that out exactly, but he decided to let it slide so he could continue his story.

"So anyway, Bryce and I took this psychology class, and we were studying interrogation techniques. So half of the class became criminals, and the other half were the interrogators. I was one of the bad guys"

"Well according to our captors, some things never change," she said.

Chuck almost laughed. It would've been funny, if the truth of that statement wasn't so damn depressing.

"Yeah, so I was one of the criminals, but I wasn't the one they were looking for. Anyway, we were locked up on the hall of a dorm that was being renovated, and the interrogators wouldn't let us sleep, and they would mess with us when we were trying to eat. It was like that episode of Veronica Mars."

"What's that? A spaceship?" she asked.

"A—what?" Chuck said. "No, it's a television show. Kristen Bell?"

"Is that another show?" she asked.

"No," Chuck said. He blinked. Not that it was her fault, but this woman couldn't really be _that_ dense, could she? "That's the actress that stars in the—you're not big on pop-culture, huh?"

"Afraid not," she said. "Television has never been a big thing in my life. In fact, the closest I've come to watching television in the past year is that little skit you were doing in your cell before you knew I was here."

"That wasn't a skit! That was _The Wrath of Kahn_!" Chuck blurted out.

"Never heard of it," she said.

"Star Trek?" he said, hoping it would spark something for her.

"Yeah, still never heard of it," she said. "Is Star Trek the one with the laser swords?"

Oh dear God. Chuck was pretty sure his head was about to explode. This poor woman. How could someone be so devoid of American culture? Or at least his idea of American culture, which was actually more nerd culture, but whatever.

"No," he said, closing his eyes, and pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's Star _Wars_. And lightsabers. But don't worry. I'll educate you before we leave."

"I appreciate the offer," she said, "but that's really not necessary. Just continue your story."

"Oh," Chuck said. "Well, there's not really much more to tell. Bryce tricked the interrogators into believing a false story, and they let us go, so we won."

"Yeah, I can believe that," she said, almost under her breath.

"What's that now?" Chuck asked. That was odd. Why would she have such strong opinions about Bryce?

"No, I mean, from what you told me about Bryce, he seems like the type to lie and manipulate, I guess," she said.

"Oh, you have no idea," he said.

"So you promised to tell me the story of how you came to hate this Bryce," she said.

"Well, I guess. But my sister told me I should really stop talking about things that happened in the past. She said women don't really want to hear about all the things that have gone wrong in my life."

"Well, I have to be honest here, Chuck, it's not like you can scare me away. I have nowhere to go. Literally," she said.

"Huh," Chuck said. "Well I guess that's true. Anyway, here's the story. Bryce and I were roommates at Stanford. We were best friends, and we did everything together. We joined the same fraternity; we had all the same friends. We were inseparable."

"And you just grew apart?" she asked.

"Not exactly," he said. "Fall of our senior year, he framed me for cheating. He told my professor that I'd stolen an answer key to an exam, and I got kicked out of school."

"And you didn't steal the exam?" she asked.

"Of course not!" Chuck said, offended. "I never cheated on anything. Ever."

"Then why did he say you did?" she asked.

"I don't know," Chuck said wistfully. "I still don't know why he did that. Just like I don't know why he stole my girlfriend, Jill, after I got expelled."

"Oh, ouch," she said.

"Yeah, pretty much," Chuck said. "That was really what broke me. One minute, I have this great future, and a great girlfriend, and a best friend that I thought would do anything for me—"

"And the next, he stabs you in the back and destroys your life?" she asked.

"More or less," Chuck said, shrugging.

"Yeah, I know the feeling," she said.

There was another lull in the conversation, the first one in while. Somehow, the silences were growing more comfortable for Chuck.

"So still no name, huh?" he asked, because the silences were _growing_ more comfortable, but they weren't there yet.

He heard her heave a deep sigh, and completely expected another rejection. Somehow he even took comfort in that. In a world where he knew nothing, the one thing that was certain was the woman he spent his days talking to would remain a mystery. Except, as it turned out, not even that was completely true.

He heard her whisper something, and he could almost make it out.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked.

"My name is Sarah," she said a little louder.

"Huh," Chuck said, "I think I think I'll stick with Brutus."

"But I have a question," she said, ignoring Chuck's ribbing.

"Sure, Sarah" Chuck said, trying her name on for size. He was pretty sure he liked it, despite his previous joke. "To paraphrase you, it's not as if I can go anywhere."

"Right," she said, and she paused. "So, if you hate Bryce so much—"

"Yeah?" Chuck asked.

"Why were you working with him to steal the Intersect?"

* * *

><p><em>Disclaimer: Still don't own Chuck, any of the characters, or any of the pop-culture refrences I managed to crowbar in.<em>

_A/N: Sorry this was a few hours late, but my internet was out last night. Also, the internet being out prevented me from sending it to someone for a final read-through, so I'm sure there are a few errors that I failed to catch before publishing. I'll go back and correct them as I find them. _

_Also, because the internet was out, I was unable to join anyone who participated in the Fringe Rewatch chat at Castle Inanity last night. I'm really sorry about that, too, but I'll be back next Monday, barring something unforeseen. Now, to make up for my absence last night, and the lateness of this chapter, here's a preview of the next chapter: _

Chuck was led down the dimly lit (but still better lit than his cell) hallway, and it was then that he couldn't shut up anymore.

"So where are we going?" he asked.

There was no answer.

"Because, here's the thing. I don't want to be a nuisance, or anything, and if you just tell me where we're going, I'm sure I could—"

Chuck's words were cut off, as he felt something hard, heavy collide with the back of his head. Then he saw only black.

_So that's all for now, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. You guys are awesome. Peace. _


	4. Big Brother is Watching

Chapter 4: Big Brother is Watching

He wanted to write it off to the captivity. To tell himself that he was just suffering some advanced stage of cabin fever. But that just seemed like a hollow reasoning for whatever had just happened to him.

For some reason, when the woman in the next cell, this _Sarah_ had said the word "intersect," Chuck's mind went into hyper-drive. It was like his brain was putting on a very strange PowerPoint presentation. And there was a pie, some random people, a big building, a very _white_ room, and then the pie returned.

Chuck actually preferred the pie. At least he knew what that was. At least that made sense.

Well, strike that. None of what just happened made sense. But at least he identify the pie. And frankly, it looked delicious. Much more appetizing than anything else he'd had to eat since being thrown in his cell.

His mind was still a bit fuzzy after the weird, well, he didn't know what to call it. But whatever it was, he was pulled from his fog by a voice. Sarah's voice, he realized.

"Chuck? Are you okay?" she was asking.

"Um, ye-eah," he fought to say. "I'm fine, I think."

"You haven't said anything in a few minutes," she said.

Well, Chuck had good reason for that.

"And you didn't answer my question," she continued.

Oh, right. She'd asked him something. "What was your question again?

Whatever her question, there was apparently someone with one more pressing. That was the only reason Chuck could fathom when the metal slide on his cell door shifted, and the heavy steel door was swung open.

For just a moment, Chuck allowed himself some hope. Maybe Ellie had finally come to bail him out. Maybe he could go home, and put this entire horrible experience behind him. And maybe he could bail Sarah out, too. It was the least he could do. She'd been the only reason he'd managed to stay sane in captivity. He owed her that much.

Whatever hope he had was washed away, however, when his eyes adjusted to the light streaming in from the hallway, and he could make out the shadowy figures before him. Perhaps it was stereotyping, but these guys didn't seem the type to bring anyone good news.

In the open doorway stood three heavily armed and armored men, one in front flanked by the other two, a half step behind the leader on his left and right. It seemed this was a prison that took security _very_ seriously. But then, Chuck should have figured that based on everything that had happened to him over the past several days.

"Um, hi guys," Chuck said nervously. "How's it going?"

The stone-faced guards didn't seem amused by his greeting. Nor did they seem to pay it any attention.

"You need to come with us," the leader said.

Not waiting for another bumbling reply from their captive, the guard standing on the leader's left walked purposefully over to Chuck's cot, and bodily dragged him up by his arm, giving Chuck a shove in the direction of the door.

"I'm coming!" Chuck said indignantly.

"Shut up," the leader said.

And Chuck did.

He shut up as they dragged him out of his cell. He shut up when he heard Sarah call after him. He shut up as the guards slammed his cell door shut behind them, and as they cuffed him—hands and feet—at gunpoint.

Chuck was led down the dimly lit (but still better lit than his cell) hallway, and it was then that he couldn't shut up anymore.

"So where are we going?" he asked.

There was no answer.

"Because, here's the thing. I don't want to be a nuisance, or anything, and if you just tell me where we're going, I'm sure I could—"

Chuck's words were cut off, as he felt something hard, heavy collide with the back of his head. Then he saw only black.

When he opened his eyes, Chuck found himself in a white room. A _very_ white room. A stark contrast to the darkness of his unconsciousness. The walls were white, the floor was white, the ceiling was white. Even the chair he was strapped to was white. And if it had a color, he was pretty sure the throbbing pain in his head would be white.

He wanted to reach up to rub the knot he was sure was forming, but the leather straps that bound him to his chair wouldn't allow it.

"I'd like to apologize for that little altercation in the hallway."

Chuck looked to his left to see the speaker. Black suit, black tie, perfect hair. Very G-man.

"I assure you, the man responsible is being thoroughly reprimanded. Now, Mr. Bartowski, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

The man spoke slow, with a slight Southern drawl. And despite the kind offer, Chuck didn't detect an ounce of sincere concern in his captor.

"You could let me go," Chuck said. It seemed unlikely, but it was the obvious request.

The man chuckled. "We both know that's not going to happen."

"Can you at least tell me why I'm here?"

For some reason, being in his cell hadn't seemed nearly as scary as his current situation. At least in his cell, he was isolated. Time went by, but he was ignorant to the outside world. It made it easier to forget that he'd been captured and imprisoned unjustly. Plus in his cell, he could talk to Sarah. After his fear of her had faded, she'd certainly become a calming influence on him, if only to be an ear to listen.

"And why's Sarah here?" he added.

"Well, I'll start with you. There's no sense beating around the bush here. We want to know what you did with the Intersect."

"But I—"

"There's no reason to deny it now, Mr. Bartowski. We heard everything you said to Agent Walker. We know Bryce Larkin sent you the Intersect. Now, if you'll just tell us where we can find it, maybe we can work out some type of deal to send you back home," the man said.

"I don't—"

Chuck cut himself off this time. There was something hidden in that last explanation. Agent Walker?

"Who's Agent Walker?" he asked.

"Oh yes, Agent Walker. Or Sarah, as you know her."

"Wait, she works for you? She was just trying—"

"She tried nothing. She successfully got you to admit to stealing the Intersect. A pretty good day, in my book," the man gloated.

"Let me talk to her!" Chuck demanded.

The man sighed. "Fine, I think I can arrange that."

The man spun on his heel and walked over to the door of the all-too-white room. He opened it a crack and leaned his head out. A moment later, the door swung further open, and the man was followed by someone else.

A tall, olive skinned woman with long, dark hair and chestnut eyes. She was stunning. Was that Sarah?

"Hello Chuck, it's nice to finally see you face to face," she said.

* * *

><p><em>Disclaimer: Even after a couple of weeks away, I still claim no financial interest in the characters or concepts of <em>Chuck.

_A/N: First of all, I'd like to apologize for the delay. For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you may know that I've had a lot going on personally. And if you don't follow me, you should, so next time you will know. My handle is the same over there. I may try to push out another chapter this week to make up for it, but no promises, as things haven't really slowed down that much. _

_Also, yeah, this is the chapter that gave me the most trouble. I've been trying to write around it, and come back to it to beef it up, but it just wasn't working. But it had to go down, so I finally just went with what I had, and put it out there. Hopefully it's not a disappointment. And hopefully there aren't too many errors, as I've re-written this so many times, I'm sure I've managed to make a few. I'll correct them as I find them. _

_Thank you to everyone that took the time to read it, and I hope it was to your liking. You guys are awesome. Peace. _


	5. The Truth and Other Strange Things

**Chapter 5: The Truth and Other Strange Things**

Chuck's head was spinning. His entire world had been rocked by his meeting with—whatever that guy's name was. Everything he thought he knew about anything had been turned upside down.

He was apparently, through no fault of his own, caught up in some kind of government initiative that involved computers, and lots of intelligence, and a bunch of other stuff Chuck didn't really understand. And Bryce was involved. Bryce had gotten _him_ involved. And Sarah.

That may have shaken Chuck more than anything. Since being imprisoned, the only thing he had to hold onto really was her. But now, it appeared Brutus was just there to play him. To make him spill about this Intersect, or whatever.

A part of him didn't want to believe it. After all, the woman he met claiming to be Sarah didn't really sound like her. But then, he wasn't talking to her through a vent in the bottom of an empty, echoey cell, either.

And the (supposed) Sarah's logic _did_ seem sound. It made sense why she would be nice to him to try to pull out his secrets. It made sense that his captors would provide him a sympathetic ear to pour out his heart. It made sense, but somehow it just didn't seem true.

Chuck's head was spinning.

He barely registered being aggressively escorted back down the dark hall, to his even darker cell. He was pretty much checked out as he was unshackled at gunpoint, and shoved unceremoniously through the cell door. He was still trying to piece everything together until he heard the crash of that same door slamming behind him.

Chuck sighed. True, he'd been in prison for days, but now it really felt like a prison. He felt more alone than he could ever remember feeling. Even after Stanford. At least he had Ellie and Morgan then. Now he had no one.

He thought he did, just hours before. He thought he had a friend. Someone he could talk to. Brutus. But this Agent Walker had made it abundantly clear that she was just trying to get him to talk, and it had worked like a charm.

Chuck collapsed on his cot, curling up on his side. He buried his face in his hands and closed his eyes, wishing somehow that everything that was happening to him would just go away.

His head still ached from the attack in the hall earlier, and his face still stung from the slap he received from Agent Walker after voicing his doubts that she really was the Sarah he'd come to know. Of course, she'd apologized, but it didn't make the pain stop.

He heard the tray holding his lunch clatter to the floor, and he looked up briefly, but he didn't feel like eating. He was too tired, and the gravity of his situation had destroyed whatever appetite he may have had.

But at least he'd learned some things about why he was imprisoned, finally.

The Intersect was a computer that held all the intelligence secrets of the United States. The physical computer had been destroyed, and Bryce, for whatever reason, had sent the information to him.

It sounded too ludicrous to be true—that the government would put every one of their secrets in one computer, and that the information could be sent in a single e-mail, but the people that told him about it were very serious.

Also, they suspected him of being involved with Bryce. They thought he was in on the plot to steal the secrets, and no matter how many times he denied it, they didn't seem to believe him.

He tried to explain that whatever it was Bryce sent him was still on his computer, but they said when they took the computer from his home, that it was no longer functional. Apparently Bryce had seen fit to accompany the secrets with a nasty little virus. Or Morgan snuck in and did something to destroy it. Either way, his computer wasn't working, and they couldn't get the information they desired.

But they wouldn't let it end there. The man and this Agent Walker were convinced that Chuck would have a copy of the file somewhere, and they were determined to get that information from him. Chuck wished he could help them. He really did. Maybe then, they'd let him go home.

But he had nothing to tell them. His computer was usually backed up on an external hard drive, but it had crashed the previous week, and he hadn't had time to reformat it since.

Still they persisted. For hours, it seemed, they asked him the same question, over and over.

"Where is the Intersect?"

He'd almost told them about the visions he had the first time he heard of this Intersect. But he didn't want them to think he was crazy. Being in prison was bad enough. He didn't want to end up in an asylum, so he kept his mouth shut.

Finally, they'd given up and ordered he be taken back to his cell.

"Chuck?"

What was—Sarah? Why would she still try talking to him? And why was she using her "Brutus voice" again? Did she really think he was that naïve?

"Chuck, are you okay? What did they do to you?"

Chuck threw his forearm over his eyes.

"Why are you pretending you weren't there?" he groaned. He was too tired, his head hurt too much to be anything but blunt.

"I was—what are you talking about, Chuck?"

He almost rolled his eyes, but one, his head hurt too much, and two, she actually sounded sincere.

"_She's a spy, she's good at lying," _his conscience whispered to him. But that didn't seem right. He'd had his doubts all along, but maybe…

"Sarah, what color are your eyes?"

There was a moment of silence, a moment that seemed to Chuck to go on forever. Finally, Sarah answered.

"Um, my eyes are blue. Why are you asking?"

Chuck felt his shoulders relax. He wasn't sure why he was so relieved that _his_ Brutus didn't seem to be the evil Agent Walker from the interrogation room, but he was.

"Oh thank God," he said.

He rolled off his cot, and quickly crawled over to the vent. "They lied to me," he said. "They told me you were a spy, and that you weren't really a prisoner, and that you were just trying to pump me for information. And then there was this woman who said she was you, but she had brown eyes, so—"

"Whoa, Chuck, slow down," Sarah said.

"I'm sorry," Chuck said bashfully. "I tend to ramble sometimes. I'm just so relieved that you're not really a spy."

"Chuck?" she said.

"Yes?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "You are a spy, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said. "Well, at least I was. I'm not sure what I am now. But I wasn't trying to trick you."

Chuck was torn. She admitted she was a spy. How could he trust her? Especially after the way he was treated by those other spies. Like he was a criminal when he'd done nothing wrong.

Still, she'd admitted that she was a spy. She'd _admitted _it. And she didn't have to. And she seemed genuinely concerned about him. But then, this could be another trick to get him to talk.

"Chuck, you're thinking very loud."

"Right, sorry," he said sheepishly.

"It's okay. Look, I know it's hard for you to trust me right now."

"And you're sure you're not a mind-reader?" Chuck joked lamely.

"I'm sure," she said, and Chuck could hear a smile in her voice. It really was Brutus. "But here's the thing. I want to help you get out of here, and I've been thinking a lot about the things you told me."

"Have you come up with anything?" he asked.

"Okay, I don't want them to overhear this, so lean really close to the vent, okay?"

He wasn't sure why, but he _did_ trust her, and he did as she instructed.

"You said you looked at those pictures, right?" she whispered so soft, Chuck could barely hear her.

"Yes," he whispered back.

"Chuck, I know where the Intersect is. You _are_ the Intersect."

Chuck felt like fainting.

* * *

><p><em>Disclaimer: I still haven't received one plugged nickel for anything relating to the <em>Chuck_ universe, which belongs to someone else. I also don't know what a plugged nickel is, and I'm too lazy to Google it._

_A/N: Sorry for the delay guys. If I had to blame anyone, it would be __**Frea**__, for making me doubt myself as a writer. Just kidding, of course. In fact, she went out of her way to apologize if she'd actually done that, which she hadn't. No, there's no one to blame but laziness and real life. Work, and other things have taken up a big portion of my time of late, and I don't see that changing in the near future. Still, I'll try to devote a few hours to this story every day, but I can't give you any timetable as to when the next chapter, or any future chapters will be out. It's just going to happen when I have the time and motivation. But I assure you, this story WILL be finished, so have no fear on that front._

_Also, a quick thank-you, and a shout out to __**catrogue**__ for taking the time to proofread this chapter, and catching some embarrassing mistakes before I put this out there for public consumption. And on her phone, no less! Thank you, Cat!_

_As to the actual story, we probably have two to three more chapters in this, what I consider to be the prologue chapters, or Act 1. There will be three acts. The second and third will probably be a bit longer, and will have a much different tone than these first seven or eight, but I won't spoil you as to how._

_In the mean time, I hope you're still enjoying this little tale of mine, and thank you so much for taking the time to read it. You guys are awesome. Peace._


	6. Enemy of My Enemy

_A/N: So it has been a looooong time since I've updated this story. Originally, this story was written in celebration of my buddy __**Frea O'Scanlin **__and it still is such, but also, I'm updating it in celebration of __**catrogue**__'s birthday! See how I get two-for-one there? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Hope you remember the story (and if not, it's not terribly wrong, and hopefully not too much trouble to go back and read it again—or not to painful to do so). Anyway, now on with the continuation of __**Breaking Out**__!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Enemy of My Enemy <strong>

Chuck was irrelevantly thankful that he wasn't in some cheesy comedy. If that were the case, he would have hit his head on a shelf placed strategically over the vent he'd just been crouched around as he reacted to Sarah's startling revelation.

"What do you mean I'm—"

His question was interrupted by a loud shush, and Chuck managed to calm himself enough crawl back to the floor so that he could hear Sarah's whispers.

"You have to be quiet, Chuck. You know they're listening."

"But you said—"

"Chuck, quiet!" Sarah demanded.

Chuck took a deep breath. He didn't even realize he was speaking loud, but then all he could hear was his pulse hammering in his ears.

"What do you mean I _am_ the Intersect?" he asked, finally calm enough to speak in the whisper Sarah demanded.

There was a long pause. Chuck was beginning to wonder if she hadn't heard him. Or maybe fallen asleep. But before he could ask her again, she finally answered.

"It's complicated," she started slowly. "Those pictures you saw, they were encoded with secrets. Government secrets."

"And when I saw them—"

"If you saw them, you know them," she interrupted.

_Too much_. It was all too much. Government secrets weren't real things. At least not in Chuck's life. They were myths. Or plot devices in spy novels. But somehow real, actual classified information was swimming around in his head. Along with a million thoughts about how his situation couldn't be real. How it all had to be a bad dream. About how Brutus was mistaken.

"But you can't tell anyone, Chuck."

"What?" Chuck asked, his voice louder than he'd intended. He took another calming breath. "Why can't I tell them? They said all they want is the Intersect. If I tell them I have it, they can take it back, then I can go home."

"It's not that simple, Chuck," Sarah said.

"Why not?"

He knew he probably sounded like a petulant child. Frankly, he didn't care. After everything he'd been through, after all the crap that had been heaped onto him up to and including being unfairly kicked out of Stanford, having his girlfriend leave him for the guy that got him kicked out, and then having that guy do something that got him stuck in prison, he felt he was justified in being a bit petulant.

"Government agencies just don't work like that," she said. "I know it sounds unfair, but if they know you have it, they'll take you away from here and put you in protective custody."

Sarah's voice sounded far more sympathetic than Chuck knew he had any right to expect after his previous childish outburst. Still, he just couldn't accept that the truth wasn't his key to going home.

"How is that any worse than where I am now?" Chuck argued.

"You're going to get out of here," she said. "They're going to figure out you don't know anything, and they'll make you sign a non-disclosure agreement. Then you'll be followed around for a few months. You'll never see them, but they'll be there. And then, when they figure out you have nothing to hide, you'll be free."

"So you've seen something like this before?" Chuck asked.

"Well, not exactly like this, but yeah, I have. That's how I know what will happen if they know the truth. I've been there when an asset was taken into protective custody. I've actually been the one to deliver them," she said. "And it's hard, and it's not fair, but that's how they operate."

The more questions she answered, the more details Sarah gave him, the more new questions Chuck had. But one stood out above the rest.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"I—"

"I mean not that I don't appreciate the truth," Chuck said, cutting her off. "I really do. I haven't gotten a lot of truth since I've been here, and it's a nice change of pace. But wanting the truth, and actually having it are very different things. At least when I was in the dark, I didn't have to worry about lying to someone. I don't know if you know this about me, but I'm not a very good liar."

"It's just—"

"But now, the next time they ask me questions, I'll actually _have_ the answers they want, but I can't tell them? That's going to be incredibly hard, you know?"

"I'm sorry," Sarah said. "I guess I shouldn't have told you."

An uncomfortable silence began to creep in then. He didn't mean to lay a guilt trip on Sarah. She was just trying to help him. And now, he was feeling guilty for doing that to her.

"No, I'm sorry," he said, breaking the silence. "I shouldn't have put that on you. It's not your fault, and you were just telling me the truth. So, thank you."

"You're welcome," she answered meekly. "I really am sorry about all of this, though, Chuck."

"Well we're all sorry then," Chuck joked. "Look, I'm really tired, you know, after all that stuff."

"Oh, of course," Sarah said. "You should get some rest, Chuck. I'm sorry about this, but they'll probably be back tomorrow."

Chuck sighed. He knew she was right.

Getting up from the floor, Chuck crossed his small cell and collapsed on his cot. He buried his face in his pillow, and tried to force sleep to come, but as much as he wanted to sleep, as tired as he was, he just couldn't get there.

So it was that he was awake when Sarah started speaking again. And he could tell that she didn't realize that.

"Chuck," she said softly. "I know you're asleep now, but I couldn't tell you all of this when you were awake, so I'm going to do it now."

She stopped then, and Chuck thought she'd probably lost her nerve, or realized he was awake. But then she continued.

"Before I was arrested, I was supposed to find you. That's how I know about the Intersect. I worked with Bryce, I was his partner, and when he went rogue and stole the Intersect, all I could think about was trying to clear my name."

Wait, Bryce was working with the CIA? And Sarah was Bryce's partner? Well, that would explain why she always sounded so disgusted whenever he brought up his former roommate. It turned out that she was the one person who seemed as personally betrayed by Bryce as Chuck. Did she maybe have an Intersect in her head, too? No, that didn't make sense. But at least he knew he wasn't alone on the Bryce betrayal train.

"I flew to L.A. to find you. It was an off-the-books mission, but then most of mine are. I was supposed to clean up a mess. Like I always do. Then, when I got off the plane, there was a SWAT team and this big NSA goon there to arrest me."

She paused again. Chuck had no doubt her arrest was a bad memory for her. He was sure his would've been, too. That is, if he remembered it.

"I should've seen it coming," she said. "If I wasn't blinded by rage, and hurt, and stuff. And a little bit of mourning, I guess. If I hadn't let Bryce get to me, I would've. But I got sloppy, and it got me caught."

Chuck so badly wanted to say something. To let her know that he knew exactly how that felt. Twice now, Bryce had let him take the fall for something that wasn't his fault. Plus, he wanted to ask her what she was mourning.

"There's something you should know about me," she said. "When I say I'm a spy, that's really only part of the story. I'm one of the best, Chuck. Maybe the best, period. Or at least I was. And I know it sounds like I'm full of myself, or cocky or whatever, but I'm really not. I'm good at what I do. And now, because of Bryce, I may never be able to do it again."

Again, Chuck felt like his neighbor was preaching to the choir. If only Bryce hadn't gotten him kicked out of Stanford, Chuck was sure he would've made something of his life. He could've become the best in some field, just like Sarah was saying she was the best in hers. It was almost as if Bryce Larkin's purpose in life was to rob other people of their future.

"Anyway, I just wanted to get that off my chest," Sarah said. "There are a lot of other things I'll tell you about, too. And maybe, one day, I'll even have the courage to tell you when you're awake."

Chuck heard her slide across the floor, and the squeaking of the bedsprings on her cot.

"Goodnight, Chuck," she said.

"Goodnight, Sarah," he answered, soft enough that she wouldn't hear.

After Sarah's confession, sleep came much easier for Chuck. He wasn't sure why. It's not that he wanted her to be miserable, like him. But just knowing that someone else was could identify with what it felt like to get stabbed in the back by Bryce Larkin made him feel better.

Plus, Sarah said she was one of the best spies in the world. It was comforting knowing someone like that had his back.

What was not comforting was the loud explosion that roused Chuck from his sleep. What was not comforting was the face last person he ever wanted to see again standing in the now open door to his cell.

"Bryce," Chuck seethed.

* * *

><p><em>AN: So that's all for now. It's funny, 99% of this chapter has been complete for over a year now, but I just couldn't get the rest to work, for whatever reason. And I was suddenly stuck on SO much. Then I added that last paragraph (literally the only new part of this story written in 2012), and it all clicked into place for me. I have direction in this story again. Funny how that works. Anyway, thanks for reading, and happy birthday, Cat! You guys are awesome. Peace._


End file.
